


One Cup, No Waiting

by blythechild



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Co-workers, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Denial of Feelings, F/M, First Meetings, Male-Female Friendship, Meddling, Romantic Friendship, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 05:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3278249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on how Reid and Prentiss first met.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story is suitable for readers aged 14 and up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Cup, No Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted by dionne_2k who wanted these two to meet over a spilled coffee. Thanks, as always, for your prompt, hon ;)

_How could this be taking so long? Were they flying the coffee in from South America cup by cup?_

She stood in line at the café and silently thought up creative ways to disembowel the customer in line ahead of her who had waited until he got to the cash _before_ he’d actually considered what to order. She was gonna be late now for sure and that wasn’t the way she had intended to start her career at the FBI. 

At least she wasn’t the only one pissed off about this; she could hear a steady stream of grumbling from the people in line behind her. Honestly, D.C. wasn’t a town filled with magnanimous people. Everyone walked around like they were the masters of the universe, even in a coffee shop - and, not for the first time, she questioned the wisdom of settling in the city. The FBI had always been her goal, and getting a chance at the BAU had been her dream, but wading through the politicians and lobbyists and intelligence service goons wasn’t a reality she relished. This job was supposed to be her shot at normality, or as close as she could get to it. Working in Behavioral Analysis was hopefully going to ground her - no more undercover gigs or lone wolf ops. A _team_ , a home base, maybe even a chance at a life outside of work… God, even the idea of that felt like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. She was sooooo ready for that…

The nimrod in front of her finally ordered and moved away to stand at the espresso station, and she shot him full of imaginary 9mm shells as she stepped forward and rearranged her expression into something friendly for the kid behind the counter. After all, it wasn’t the barista’s fault if his customer base were clueless and _not_ hopelessly late for a new job.

“Dark roast, black, biggest damned size you have. Please.”

She thought she heard someone snort softly behind her but was distracted by the coffee kid’s smirk. He moved surprisingly fast and when she gave him a five dollar bill for a dollar eighty-five coffee, she told him to keep the change. He nodded appreciatively and her spirits lifted: it never cost much to be kind and she _just_ might make it to Quantico in time after all because of him. She turned from the cash and then hesitated, reaching back for a napkin. And then her whole morning went to hell as she ran smack into the person waiting in line behind her spilling her cup of hope all over him and the impressive book he was reading.

“Oh, _come on!_ ” she said before she could stop herself, using her napkin to dab the coffee droplets from her sleeve. Behind her, she heard the coffee kid yell out ‘Mop!’ with the same enthusiasm that he called out people’s drink orders. She totally missed the gasp of discomfort from the guy who was now wearing her dark roast.

“Christ, do you use your eyeballs to see, or are you relying on the Force?” she muttered an instant before she looked up to see the coffee-stained guy. He was pinching his ruined dress shirt away from his chest and shaking his book when her words hit home and he stopped dead, stared at her like she’d just spoken in a dead language, and raised his eyebrows. For a guy who’d just been scalded, he seemed pretty calm, and, well… _pretty_. Rangy, academic types didn’t usually turn her head, but this guy was a tall strip of hazel-eyed, supermodel-cheekboned, zero percent body fat goodness, and her whole attitude went from indignation to fluttering in the space of a heartbeat. He blinked quickly a few times behind his Buddy Holly glasses and then shrugged like the whole thing was actually his fault.

“I was reading,” he murmured. “With my eyes, I mean. Clearly my use of the Force requires some work. I’m still just a Padawan.”

 _Oh, wow._ Her internal geek sat up at attention. He’d said it like it was normal to speak to total strangers using _Star Wars_ references. He was staring at her as if she had the secrets of the universe scrawled across her forehead, and when she found herself smiling, he seemed to remember himself and dropped his eyes to his shoes. He looked pretty young - too young for her, really - and she got the impression that he wasn’t good around people. Her assessment seemed on the money as she quickly profiled him by his old man outfit, unfashionable tie, and unfortunate haircut that might have passed for ‘freshly fucked’ if its unruliness were in any way intentional. Yeah, he really wasn’t her type at all; she doubted that his patchwork sense of style qualified as anyone’s ‘type’ but when he looked back up, eyes drawn to her like magnetism, something zipped along the surface of her.

“You know, it was my mistake.” She tried to smile even more but it just appeared to confuse him. “I was rushing and, well… I’m the jerk in this scenario. No doubt about that. I’m sorry.”

She waited but all he did was stare. His eyes seemed huge, out of scale to the rest of him, but when she took a moment to assess it, she realized it wasn’t true; they were just expressive, warm. It was hard to look at anything else. Eventually he shook his head and stammered out an ‘It’s okay’ like an afterthought. 

“Really, it’s not. That coffee must’ve been very hot-”

“One hundred and seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Pardon?”

“The temperature of the coffee. Which is, indeed, very hot. Most people prefer it a little hotter, but that is the optimal range without compromising the bean flavor. But really, I’m fine. I’ll just need to change my shirt.”

“Huh, okay.” It felt like he was being dismissive but he was staring at her again. “Well, maybe the book is salvageable…”

“Oh no, it’s quite ruined, I’m afraid.” He lifted the book and then broke out into an inexplicable smile that changed his whole appearance and made his eyes even more remarkable. “Luckily, I’ve already memorized it. I was just reviewing a section for my thesis argument.”

Another coffee kid suddenly appeared with a mop and pushed them out of the way without looking up. The rest of the line gratefully moved forward, sidestepping both the puddle and the poor schlep who was trying to prevent them tracking it throughout the shop. She finally huffed, resigning herself to a lack of caffeine before she caught sight of the spine of Buddy Holly’s book. She looked up at him again, impressed. 

“You memorized the collected works of Voltaire?”

“Yeah,” he nodded casually, wafting the front of his shirt around as if that would dry it.

“Wow, cool.”

His eyes locked on hers critically. “Is it?”

“Well, maybe not to everyone. Or even most people in this shop, despite his profound love of coffee,” she averred and then her secret nerd identity took the conversational reins before she could stop it. “But he had groundbreaking and controversial things to say about democracy and class structure that we really should pay attention to - because we _haven’t_ \- and ‘cause he’d be apoplectic about what we’re doing in this century, from civil rights straight through to Intelligent Design.”

“He’d be calling for riots in the streets, especially here in America - a land founded on democratic precepts that he found so improbable.” The guy was grinning like a maniac now. It made her stomach flip… those cheekbones, the lines around his mouth… he was quite _something_ all of a sudden. “Not many people know about the coffee thing either.”

 _Star Wars_ , Voltaire, possible underwear model underneath the geriatric wear and coffee… this whole morning was starting to get weird in the best possible way. Maybe coming back to D.C. had been the correct move after all. She decided to embrace the possibilities, and took a step closer.

“Speaking of coffee, may I buy you one? Or, maybe, a new shirt?”

And then his grin melted away into something that looked old and wary and not something that she could’ve possibly earned in less than five minutes.

“That’s not necessary. Thanks for offering though.” He looked away and waved his soggy book dismissively.

“Seriously,” She took another step bringing her within a range that wasn’t used by strangers. He looked back at her immediately, eyes widening but holding his ground. “I’ve ruined your shirt, your book, and possibly your day - it’s the least that I can offer. There’s no reason why you should suffer because I’m on edge today. I’m Emily, by the way…”

She held out her hand and he took a long moment to stare at both her, and then her hand before he grasped it. “I’m Spencer.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Even with coffee all over me.” The side of his mouth lifted in a smirk and she got a head rush, as if she’d won some great victory. “So, uh… why are you on edge, Emily?”

“I’m starting a new job today and I’m sorta excruciatingly late.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “I’m not sure that coffee can help you there. Or chatting up random guys in a café.”

After he said it, he must have realized how it sounded because he looked away and rolled on his heels nervously. She waited a beat. Nine times out of ten she would’ve shrugged it off and called it a day - some people just weren’t interested. But it was the _way_ he was backing off - as if he expected it to go badly from the start…

“You’re not very good at this, are you?” she murmured.

He looked back at her and seemed a little scared. Then he adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat but didn’t say anything. 

“Listen, I _am_ late but I _am_ truly sorry about the coffee thing. And this Voltaire stuff really interests me. No foolin’. Where are you studying?”

“Harvard. I-I mean, it’s a remote program through Georgetown U.”

“I didn’t know that Harvard did remote learning at all…”

“They do in special cases.” He didn’t elaborate but she knew that there was more to that statement, just like there was more to this guy than he was letting on. And she found that she just couldn’t help herself.

“Well,” she huffed after another long silence. “You won’t let me buy you coffee, you won’t let me buy you a shirt… will you let me buy you lunch?”

Now he looked absolutely petrified. She was starting to wonder if she had sprouted a second head or something. 

“But you’re late…” he mumbled.

“Well, not _now_. Later. You know, after I’ve made apologies to my new boss and you get over how obviously terrifying this encounter has been.” 

She reached into her jacket and found an old Interpol card. She scratched out the overseas contact info and scrawled her new cell number below it. Smirking, she held it out to him and dared him not to take it. He gave her a grumpy look, which came across as adorable and he probably didn’t even realize it. Maybe he was under the impression that his face didn’t give as much of him away as it did.

“C’mon, Spencer.” She wiggled the card between her fingertips. “I promise that I’m not a deranged serial killer, and you can always throw my number away if that impression persists.”

Finally, he smirked back and took the card gently from her hand. “An offer that would doubtlessly be proffered by a deranged serial killer.”

She chuckled and then brushed his arm as she moved past him towards the door. “Well, what’s life without a little risk? I hope you have a hidden daredevil streak and decide to call.”

She watched his smirk change into a smile. “Good luck today, Emily. Knock ‘em dead. Ummm, figuratively…”

She was still chuckling halfway down the block when she realized that she _still_ hadn’t had a coffee. Oh well, she’d just have to ride out day one of the new job on the high of meeting Nervous Spencer.

\----

“Hey, kid, where have you been?” Morgan was lounging against the conference room door, which Reid took as a good sign. The morning meeting hadn’t started without him.

“I had to buy a new shirt,” he breathed as pulled up next to Morgan with enough bags and books to drop an elephant.

“Why?”

“Some girl… er, _woman_ spilled coffee all over me this morning on the way into work. Why hasn’t the briefing started yet?”

“Hotch has been delayed. Strauss pulled him out even before he distributed the case file.” Morgan leaned in a little. “What woman? Where? How? Deets, Pretty Boy, deets…”

Reid rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that. I think. Although… maybe it was. What would _you_ think if a woman spilled coffee all over you and then gave you her phone number?”

“You got _her number?!_ Awww, man - nice!” Morgan chucked Reid hard on the shoulder and grinned. Reid tried not to wince. “So what’s she like? Lemme guess: she’s a pretty graduate student type. Bookish, but not a shut-in, maybe she’s into those Renaissance fairs or a real life Quidditch league. Oh, I know! She plays the cello…”

“Wow, Morgan, _no_. And for the record, anyone who knows that there _are_ real life Quidditch leagues shouldn’t be so condescending about nerds.”

“My bad.” Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, kid. But tell me about her.”

“Well, she’s… she’s sorta… amazing.” Reid shook his head and readjusted his bag across his shoulders. “I mean, amazing considering I know nothing about her. But she’s sarcastic and forthright, she’s smart - she was familiar with the works of Voltaire and wanted to talk about my thesis… _no one_ wants to talk about Voltaire.”

“That’s true.”

“And she was all over my geek analogies and didn’t act like I was a smelly, scary basement dweller because of them. And she seemed really nice, like, she really wanted to make the situation up to me even though I told her it wasn’t necessary. She even tipped the barista a hundred and seventy percent for a coffee she didn’t get to drink.”

“She does sound nice, Reid.”

“Yeah. But… the way she looks, Morgan…”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with the way she looks?”

“That’s the thing: there’s nothing wrong with the way she looks - at all. She’s… breathtaking. Tall and strong, dark hair, dark eyes that kinda pull you in, a great smile - totally disarming, and she’s, well… _shapely_.”

“Shapely?” Morgan’s eyebrows arched.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here. She’s gorgeous, Morgan, that’s my point. Gorgeous women don’t flirt with guys like me. Never have, never will.”

“Hey now, don’t do that.” Morgan threw an arm around Reid’s shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze that Reid didn’t mind so much. “You really underestimate your effect on people. Haven’t I always said that?”

“Yeah,” Reid nodded doubtfully.

“Don’t let a beautiful woman intimidate you. Everyone’s insecure about something. You’ve got a lot to offer and it seems as though she’s into you too. _She_ gave you _her_ number, right? Trust me, women don’t do that unless they’re genuinely interested. She’s probably not running a game on you, if that’s your concern here. It’s time to get out of your collegiate mindset and just embrace your Pretty Boy status.”

Morgan gave him a winning smile while Reid just rolled his eyes again.

“I hate that nickname.”

“I know. So, whaddaya think? You gonna call her, or what?”

Reid huffed and thought about the business card in the inner pocket of his suit jacket. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to maybe meet up with her again… you know, to see if she just actually wanted me to help her with her taxes or something…”

“My man!” Morgan whooped, completely out of proportion to Reid’s pessimism about Emily wanting to date him. “Gonna get yourself a beautiful girl…”

Morgan started to do some sort of victory dance and Reid felt it wise to shrug him off until the fit passed. He suddenly became aware that they were no longer alone. Reid turned and saw Hotch walking towards them with a hard look on his face. Reid slapped Morgan lightly to get his attention and then shot his gaze to his sneakers thinking that maybe Hotch had issues with bullpen dancing. He heard Hotch clear his throat, and then he looked up to find that his boss had a guest and it was none other than Emily. She was looking around the bullpen trying to take everything in, then her eyes landed on him, and, to his private delight, they lit up when she recognized him.

“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan said, looking at Emily with undisguised curiosity. 

“Good morning. Sorry for the late start. Allow me to introduce you to Emily Prentiss. She just transferred in from Interpol and will be taking Greenaway’s old position in the unit.”

And just as quickly as Reid’s delight appeared, it burst around him. Emily was Elle’s replacement; she was the ‘new’ Elle. She’d take the desk across from his where he could observe her to his heart’s content, but he’d never be allowed to do anything more. So much for getting himself a pretty girl…

“Nice to meet you, Prentiss. Welcome to the team. I’m Derek Morgan.” Morgan offered his hand and she shook it firmly, then she turned expectantly to Reid.

“And this is another team member, Dr. Spencer Reid,” Hotch spoke up when Reid didn’t.

“ _Dr._ Reid. Well… hi.” Her cheeks coloured. “A doctor of what, if I may ask?”

“Chemistry, mathematics, and engineering,” he mumbled and took her hand quickly when she offered it.

“Ummm… _all_ of those? But you can’t be more than…”

“Twenty-four.”

“Reid’s our resident brain trust.” Morgan slapped him on the back congenially. “We’d be lost without him.”

“I guess you would be.” Reid looked up and saw her smiling at him. “That’s really remarkable.”

She didn’t get it, not yet, so he smiled back because it was her first day and he _knew_ that she was already nervous about it. There was no need to make things awkward.

“We can all get acquainted later,” Hotch interrupted. “We have a case, so I’m afraid that you’ll have to hit the ground running, Agent Prentiss.”

“That’s how I’d prefer it anyway, sir,” she nodded, shoulders straightening for the challenge.

Yeah, she had enough to deal with today, he thought as she brushed past his arm for the second time and followed Hotch and Morgan into the briefing.

\----

Later, Reid fled to the staff kitchen, hoping for a moment to collect himself, but Morgan followed him like a bad reputation. And once again he didn’t realize that Emily was there until he almost tripped over her. He wondered if she were part ninja the way he never saw her until it was too late…

“So, when are you gonna call her?” Morgan leaned against the kitchen doorway.

“Call whom?” Emily slurped her newly-made coffee.

“The Doctor here met a girl today and she gave him her number.”

“Morgan!” Reid shot his friend a murderous look.

“C’mon, Reid, we’re all in each other’s business. The sooner Prentiss figures that out, the better. Right?” Morgan arched an eyebrow at Emily.

“Sure,” Emily shrugged and then turned to Reid with an analytical glare. “I guess that doesn’t happen to you much if you’re undecided about it.”

“Does it happen to _you_ much?” he pushed back.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not really.”

Reid nodded and gave her an unspoken _‘well, then…’_

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me?” Morgan continued.

“He said _‘when are you gonna call her’_ ,” Emily ignored Morgan and kept staring at Reid over her mug. “ _When_ , not _are_ you going to do it…”

Reid was taken aback for a moment, and then the perfect response came to him and he smiled. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. She could be a deranged serial killer…”

Emily smiled too. “I suppose, in this business, that’s certainly a risk.”

“Unbelievable,” Morgan huffed and waved a hand in Reid’s direction. “A gorgeous woman comes onto you, and you think she might be a killer. That’s really screwed up, kid, even for you.”

“Maybe the timing isn’t right.” He said it to Morgan but was looking at Emily.

Morgan made a disgusted noise as he turned and left the kitchen. A muffled ‘bullshit’ wafted back towards them as he stormed away.

“He took that sorta hard.” Emily jutted her chin towards the departed Morgan. “What exactly did you tell him about me, anyway?”

“I said you were out of my league, and Morgan seems to think that paradigm doesn’t exist even though it benefits him in almost every social situation in which he finds himself.” Reid looked away so that he wouldn’t see how she reacted to that. “Emily, you should know that there is a strict anti-fraternization policy at the Bureau.”

It was best to get it out of the way now, when no one had done anything irrecoverably embarrassing yet.

“Oh,” she said after a pause. “That explains some things.”

“Yeah,” he sighed expansively. “Sorry about being twitchy earlier. I’d like to tell you that it gets better, but you’ll probably just have to accustom yourself to it.”

There was a long space of silence where they didn’t look at one another. He focused on stirring his coffee, narrowing his senses to the swirl of cream and the light tink of the spoon against the ceramic edge.

“Does the anti-fraternization policy forbid friendship?” she asked eventually.

He looked up and she offered him a hopeful smile. He smiled back, a little relieved. He had been right: she was genuinely nice. Definitely probably not a deranged maniac. And as improbable as dating her was, the prospect of being her friend seemed really attainable. Still, he couldn’t help feeling slightly deflated by how the day had turned out.

“Nope, no friendship police as far as I know.”

“Well, that’s some good news.” She raised her mug in his direction and it made him feel as though he’d gained entry to a secret club. “I think you’re interesting, Doctor. And I’d still like to discuss Voltaire with you sometime.”

“I’ve been told that’s no one’s idea of fun, but if you’re game, so am I.”

Emily laughed and he found himself smiling. _No, not Emily… she’s Prentiss. We’re friends. I’m Reid and she’s Prentiss - that’s how it’s gonna be._

“So, are you actually doing a remote degree from Harvard, or was that just a line?” She arched an eyebrow at him and he got confused. Did she really think that he was confident enough to use a line on her?

“Yes, I am. Philosophy. Because of my Bureau schedule, I can only study remotely. Harvard made an exception for me - they’re hoping that someday I’ll accept a teaching position there.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then looked at his feet. “And I would never falsely advertise myself to a woman.”

“Yeah,” she answered quietly, making him look up. “I’m starting to see that. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier… at the café.”

“No, I mean, yes, I was uncomfortable, but I also sorta enjoyed it.” He stepped towards her and then decided that they had to stop talking about it. Forget it ever happened. “But that’s water under the bridge now, right?”

“Right.” Prentiss straightened and nodded. He could almost see her rearranging herself for her new role. He decided to do the same.

“I should get back to it.”

He made it to the doorway when she spoke again.

“Hey, Reid… _would_ you have called me? You know, if I hadn’t turned out to be your new deskmate…”

He turned to look back at the eyes that had made him both speechless and bold at the same time. After a moment, he offered her a sad smile.

“Welcome to the team, Prentiss.” And then he shuffled back to his desk and buried himself in his half-completed geoprofile.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story as a prequel to [Wrong Moment](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3117635), to sort of explain Prentiss's motivation for doing what she did in that story. To give it history, in a way. The fics are 6 years apart, and can stand alone, but you may want to read that one as well.


End file.
